


Make it to the Sunrise

by macko



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Multi, Sad, The Last of Us AU, Zombie AU, but not really, platonic ot6 kinda, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macko/pseuds/macko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whoever said that a dead man couldn't win can take it back and shove it up their ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make it to the Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> First tap into the rtah works whoo  
> go prompt/request me at onedris.tumblr.com if you like my work! c:

“ _It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you_

_begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.”_

_-Atticus Finch  
_

 

It had all happened so suddenly, none of the guys had a moment to move. “Watch out!” Someone shouted, in the general direction of where the Bloater was. No one was near there, and the ones that were, jumped back quickly, fumbling to get their shirts over their noses and mouths. The Bloater let out a guttural roar, and released a blast of Mycotoxin.

Curses were heard from the six men in the vicinity, and coughing quickly followed afterward. Through the spores that now were floating and spreading through the air, a molotov flew threw the thick cloud of deathly poison. The Infected came running towards the sound, and just seconds later, the screams of them echoed through the night.  
  
Now with smoke mixed in with the gas, more coughing was heard, and the sounds of shoes slapping on the pavement beneath them mingled with the coughs. One man in particular, was having more trouble than others. He could hear his name being called, but didn't have the energy to respond.  
  
“Michael, boy! Where are you!” A voice laced with a lovely british accent cut through all the rest, making itself known.

Ears still ringing, the missing lad quietly coughed some more, before mustering up the energy to walk out of the infected area. Breaking through the cloud, he saw the relieved faces of the rest o his crew, and varying voices filled with worry and masked worry greeted him. Even though it hurt, Michael laughed them off.  
  
“Geez, I'm fine. The explosion was just a bit too close, so it left me disoriented somewhat.” The man closest to him on his left let out a loud _'whoop!'_ and tackled him to the ground. The rest of the men broke out into laughter, and the two lads on the ground squirmed around. Michael laughed along with them, but he already knew.

He was a dead man walking.

* * *

It got worse over the weeks, and Michael pretended not to care. He pretended not to notice how it got harder to breathe, harder to move. The rest of the guys that he was living with were blissfully unaware. And he planned to keep it that way. He didn't want them to know. To know that he was _infected._

It didn't feel right, keeping secrets from friends, but it was to protect them. Because when he turned, and he would turn, he wouldn't have to say goodbye. Because he would already be long gone. He already had a plan all worked out. So he continued to ignore the concerned looks the others were shooting him from time to time. He waved away any questions Jack had about his health, and simply laughed off the rest. And they all believed him.

So he continued to not care.

* * *

About seven weeks after he had been poisoned and infected from the Bloater, the cough developed. Harsh, racking coughs that made the others' wince when they heard them. His health was continuing to deteriorate, and they were starting to catch on. But Michael still waved them away, refusing any help that was offered, besides the occasional painkiller. Headaches and migraines were getting to be pretty common, and so were bloody noses.

The ginger woke up one night to a vicious nose bleed, and ran to the bathroom of their rundown and abandoned house. The water barely worked, but it had a mirror, and towels were in there as well. The house served as a good resting point in the apocalypse.

After getting the nose bleed in check, he had walked out and ran right into Ray. The younger man had given him a skeptical look, and asked him about the nose. Michael told him to shut up, and that he had hit it on something. He knew it was stupid excuse, and wouldn't appease the new yorker, but it was late, so he stumbled out of the hallway and back to his room. It was never brought up in the morning.   


* * *

 Geoff questioned him on the eighth week, asking, ordering was a more appropriate word, him about his health, and if he really was okay. By that point, Michael was just so tired. He was so tired of the pain, of the headaches, of the cough, of everything. But he was going to win. He was going to see this through to the end. So he convinced the gent that he really was okay, saying that it would all be over with in a couple more weeks.

Geoff didn't pick up on the implication.

* * *

On the ninth week, Michael knew he couldn't keep away the worried glances that the rest of the guys were giving him. So on the second night of the ninth week, he was found out. By Ryan, of all people. Michael supposed he should have expected it, but he wasn't at all prepared. They were all gathered in the family room, relaxing from another successful fight against the Infected. They all came out okay, but Michael was having problems.

He was deathly pale, his freckles standing out against his cheeks and nose. His breathing was labored, heavy rasping breaths that rattled within his chest. He had also lost some weight over the past weeks, and it was definitely showing now. Bones jutted out in places where they shouldn't be visible, the skin stretched taut over them. There was a defeated and dead look within the hazel irises, and it was painful. They were usually so full of warmth, and mischief.

Gavin and Jack kept shooting him concerned looks as they all talked. The voices were becoming more joking and cheerful, when Ryan spoke. He looked directly at Michael, who could barely meet the man's piercing blue gaze.

“You're infected, aren't you.”

Silence. That was all that followed that statement. All eyes were focused on Michael now, and he shifted, swallowing thickly. He didn't say anything. Ryan spoke up again. “You're infected, and have been for a while. I should have seen this sooner. I watched my family go through this, and then watched them get executed in front of me by the military! Why didn't I see the symptoms!”

The silence was deafening. No one said a word. Grief and confusion were settled on all of the mens' faces, except Ryan's. His face looked broken, eyes a bit watery.

“Why didn't you tell..?” He whispered, addressing the elephant in the room. And that seemed to break the others from their shock.

Loud voices all started shouting at once, and a few cries were heard. Someone latched onto his arm, but Michael roughly shoved them away. He glanced to the side, and saw the watery gaze of Gavin trained on him, looking hurt. He shifted off the couch, and fell to the floor. Five pairs of hands came to help him up, but he weakly told them to stop, and to get away from him. Reluctantly, they all obeyed.

Sitting himself up, he steeled himself for the explanation. “I got infected about nine weeks ago..Remember that fight with the Bloater? Guess who got fucking blasted in the face with the spore-bomb.” Michael said, clearing his voice some to get rid of the edge to it. It didn't help.

Gavin spoke next. “But you said that you were fine after that..” The lad trailed off when he realized what he was saying. He stared at the dying lad next to him, and said in a broken voice. “You...you lied to us..You lied to us about this!” The brit exclaimed, reaching out to grab at Michael. He was shoved away again.

Silence reigned once again, before the younger ginger broke it. “I didn't want to you guys to worry, to know. I knew I was dead the moment I got caught in the blast. But I've come to terms with this. I'm not a fucking idiot. I knew I only had ten weeks to live. But I just wanted to enjoy it with you all, and not be constantly worrying about how you guys would treat me. I wanted to live!” Michael's speech was interrupted by a harsh coughing fit, making the man whimper.

Jack had to look away, because it hurt. It hurt seeing the strong man whimper and cry out in pain like that. He didn't like how vulnerable it sounded, looked. Michael curled up on the floor, clutching at his chest as his breath became even more labored. He looked up at Geoff, and their eyes met.

A silent conversation went on between them, and Geoff looked stricken. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he held Michael's gaze as he reached back behind him. His hand closed around the handle of his pistol, and he shakily brought it in front of him. The rest of the men could only watch in shock and fear as their leader, their pillar, lifted the gun, and aimed at Michael. The man on the floor simply smiled and closed his eyes. He was glad Geoff had understood him. 

Voices of protest broke out in the room, and Ryan lunged forwards, only to be held back by Ray. He whirled on Ray, and looked at him. Ray was shaking, but he didn't relent on his grip. Geoff was the one that spoke. “He wants this, Rye. This is what he wants. To leave this world without any regrets or goodbyes. He's won his battle. It's over for him.”

The gent's voice shook as he said the words, and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. All the mens' attention was focused on the oldest man, and they all had tears gathering in their eyes. Gavin had tears openly streaming down his face, and he accepted the hug that Jack was offering him. He couldn't watch.  
  
Geoff looked back down at Michael, took in his smile, and cracked his own watery smile. He was right. Michael had won his battle. And after nine weeks and two days, he would finally be free and live with no regrets in his life. “We'll never forget you, buddy.”  
  
_The gun went off._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Took elements from 'The Last of Us' and I know it's not accurate. Been forever since I've played the game. Just liked the general concept of the zombies in it, and this pile of shit was born. This was an english assignment for school, so it's a bit toned down, but it still works. Kudos, comment at your own free will c:


End file.
